Set the Record Straight

by Hannah Bonam-Young

Clara was special. Is special. She’s a mosaic of a person. So many differing, unique elements that create one perfect thing. A little chaotic and a whole lot of mess involved—but beautiful all the same.

I’m either a narcissist—and can only get off using my own imagination by myself—or I’m not as straight as I thought I was this morning. Hell, an hour ago. I might have a crush on my fake girlfriend.

“I’m not sure what’s going on with me,” she whispers. “But I think I like it.” “Kissing girls?” “Kissing you,”

If I had to pinpoint it—if I was asked at this exact moment—I’d say my sexuality is the corner of Evan’s lips. It’s the gasps she makes that act as a windstorm in my chest. It’s the space between her fingers where I fit better than anywhere else. It’s all instinct here. Intuition. And I’ve been waiting my whole life for this rush. So I’m not questioning it anymore.

I actually have a really good feeling that this could have been the first day of waking up next to the love of my life.

And after last night, I can’t say I wouldn’t rather be home right now, hibernating under blankets with Clara. Or using her legs as a scarf.

“That I’d spent my life as a half, and now I’m whole. Like I’ve been sleeping so long under a haze—an illusion of comfort—then you came in. Sunshine and golden rays of light. And you made everything brighter.”

“Fuck me in this closet, Ev. Make me come. I’ll be so quiet, I promise. I’ll be so good for you.”

“It’s an LG-BLT flag, I’m told.” Daryl nods, beaming with pride. “Oh my god,” Clara mutters under her breath.